


Through a Sense, Darkly

by atsuyuri_sama



Series: Behind Glowing Eyes [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt!Derek, M/M, References to Depression, Spoilers S1E4, momentary contemplation of suicide, overactive senses (because of poisoning)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atsuyuri_sama/pseuds/atsuyuri_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wolfsbane bullet did more than just give Derek a wound that would bleed all over Stiles’ Jeep; it messed with his control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through a Sense, Darkly

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Teen Wolf. As always, unBeta'd.
> 
> Part 4 in Behind Glowing Eyes.

It was the scent that distracted him. _Her_ scent.

So of course it was followed by a blinding pain. It was a sharp strike in his arm – and not his chest – but it was a wound that would not heal, and that was enough symbolism for him. Well… symbolism enough, until he actually _looked_ and _saw_ the unhealing bullet wound, pouring dark red blood from his forearm near the elbow.

His sense of touch flared; _here I am,_ it screamed, _here I am and it **hurts!**_

But the fact that it was a real wound didn’t mean that the unending pain he associated with _her_ presence was any less fitting.

It wasn’t healing. Perhaps she’d come back to finish the job she started so long ago?

He wasn’t sure what he felt about that plan. He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

**-TSD-**

It was the sound that told him he was close. That boy’s voice was always twisted up in Scott’s, when the younger werewolf went to Lacrosse practice.

The gruff rumble of a cub trying _so very hard_ to be an alpha (however much one can actually be an ‘alpha’ to a human pack, anyway), the snap of angry teeth as he spoke with all kinds of contrived superiority, and the crackle of hand joints ground too close together by too-tight fists characterized this teen before him.

The taste of blood on his tongue was almost too much. His wolf didn’t appreciate being too wounded to heal.

It struck out in tiny ways, trying to pull his human form in; the defense mechanism of every werewolf (even more-so in the born ones) is to revert to wolf form, where the instincts and the strengths and the healing are all better-faster-stronger, when one isn’t doing well.

He didn’t like not being in control. The permeating scent of the students wouldn’t go away; the school bell was too loud; the rough brick was barely concealed by his faithful jacket; the colors of daylight and learning and life bounced around his eyeballs without meaning… the blood on his tongue was too bitter, burning with the faint traces of wolfsbane trickling into his system.

**-TSD-**

In the end, he was too lost in his senses to notice anything coherently.

It was more than a miracle that he got Scott and Stiles to understand him (to have even _gotten_ to them; that they would have deigned to help _him_ ) – it was just a miracle.

Anyone else would have been lost to the weariness, the overload, the bitter-sweet lure of a poison that promised (if nothing else) a way to be with his family again. He almost gave in; he won’t lie.

The next thing he knew, he was wrapped in the slightly-medicated scent of Stiles (and… they were arguing? About what?). And he’d never noticed how Pack-Omega-Gold Stiles’ eyes were – the teen was a regular human-wolf. As he came back to himself, he was overcome with the desire to touch – to ground at least one of his senses _purposefully_ in this presence that had managed to drown out the power of the poison – and found himself (somewhat vindictively) grabbing Stiles’ head and slamming it down into the steering wheel.

He was growing more exhausted as time went on; manhandling Stiles was enough to bring him back around, but world-weariness was making it’s grab for him now. For whatever reason, his wolf trusted Stiles enough to let him sink.

When they got to Deaton’s, they would discuss his impending death – and the bullet in his arm, and the unhealing wound, and the black veins of poison creeping up his flesh, and the crazy-mad Hunter who once knew him and was bitch-dangerous – but for now…

For now, surrounded by Stiles’ scent, rocked by the gentle rumblings of the Jeep that  the teen lavished love on, and assured by the sound of Stiles’ strong, rapid heartbeat that he didn’t have to be in charge for once, Derek slid into the dark, seated beside a warm, confident (human maybe-Pack member) presence.


End file.
